Oh my youth

OH MY YOUTH A Fantasy Novel Chapter One: The Fading Light In the city of Avelora, youth was not counted in years but in radiance. From the moment a child was born, a faint glow shimmered beneath their skin — a living spark called the Ember. It pulsed softly within the chest, visible only at twilight, when the sky turned violet and the world held its breath between day and night. The brighter your Ember, the stronger your gifts. Some could coax vines to bloom from stone. Some shaped wind into silver threads. Others whispered to rain and bent it into falling patterns like lace. Kaelara had none of these. At seventeen, her Ember should have been steady and warm, but hers flickered like a candle in a storm. She first noticed it the night of her birthday. The city gathered at the Skywell, a circular terrace carved from white stone overlooking the valley. Lanterns floated overhead like captured stars. Laughter filled the air. Youths displayed their growing powers for elders who nodded in approval. Kaelara stood at the edge of the terrace and pressed a hand to her chest. Her glow was dim. Not weak — fading. Across the platform, her best friend Ilyan lifted both arms and summoned a spiral of golden wind that danced around him like a living crown. Applause echoed. His Ember shone bright as sunrise. Kaelara forced a smile. She had always been ordinary, but this felt different. This felt like disappearing. When twilight deepened, she caught her reflection in the polished surface of the Skywell. Her reflection blinked. She did not. The mirrored girl tilted her head slowly, studying her with silver, unfamiliar eyes. Kaelara stepped back. The reflection stepped forward. And then it stepped out. Chapter Two: The Keeper of Lost Years He emerged from the mirror like mist parting at dawn. Not a girl. A boy cloaked in shadows, with pale hair and eyes like fractured starlight. Kaelara could not scream. The sound stuck in her throat as the world around them blurred into silence. “I have little time,” he said softly. “Your Ember is being siphoned.” “Siphoned?” Her voice trembled. “Stolen.” His gaze drifted to her chest. “The Withered King has marked you.” The name chilled her blood. Every child in Avelora knew the legend,a shadowed ruler beyond the Hollow Wilds who fed on youth to remain immortal. A myth told to frighten restless children. “You’re not real,” she whispered. “I am Cyris,” he replied. “A Keeper of Lost Years. I collect what he cannot finish consuming.” She stared at him. “You are fading faster than most. That is why I could cross the veil.” “Why me?” she demanded. His expression softened. “Because you were never ordinary.” Before she could question him further, the world snapped back into sound and motion. Lanterns drifted overhead. Laughter returned. Cyris was gone. But her Ember dimmed another shade. Chapter Three: The Mark By morning, the city noticed. Children whispered when Kaelara passed. Elders avoided her eyes. A fading Ember was considered a curse,a sign of weakness or hidden corruption. Ilyan found her sitting by the river that wound through the lower quarter. “You’re scaring them,” he said gently. “I’m not doing anything.” “That’s just it.” He sat beside her and studied the faint glow beneath her skin. “Maybe the Council can help,” he offered. But deep down, they both knew the Council only strengthened bright Embers. They did not fix dying ones. That night, Cyris returned. This time, she did not scream. “Show me,” she demanded. Without hesitation, he extended his hand. The world dissolved. They stood in a wasteland of twisted trees and frozen twilight. The Hollow Wilds. In the distance, a black tower pierced the sky like a broken spear. “At its heart,” Cyris said quietly, “the Withered King feeds.” Kaelara felt something tug at her chest,a thread of light stretching from her Ember toward the tower. She gasped. “That is how he draws you,” Cyris said. “Slowly. Quietly.” “Why me?” she asked again. Cyris stepped closer. “Because you possess something he cannot control.” “What?” “Restoration.” The word hung between them. “You can reignite dying Embers,” he said. “You just do not know how.” She laughed bitterly. “Mine is dying.” “Yes,” he said. “And that is why you must learn quickly.” Chapter Four: Leaving Avelora Kaelara did not tell Ilyan. She left before dawn, slipping past the gates while the city still slept. The Hollow Wilds loomed like a dark sea beyond the valley. As soon as she crossed into its shadow, time felt wrong. Leaves hung suspended mid-fall. A breeze brushed her cheek but did not stir her hair. Cyris appeared beside her. “You will see fragments,” he warned. “Memories made flesh. Do not linger.” They had not walked far when she heard crying. A young girl knelt beneath a tree, hugging herself. Her Ember glowed faint and cracked. “I cannot move,” the girl whispered. Kaelara recognized her Lysa, from the southern district. She had vanished weeks ago. “Lysa,” Kaelara breathed. “She is caught between,” Cyris said. “Not dead. Not whole.” Kaelara knelt before the girl. “What do I do?” she asked. “Feel her light,” Cyris replied. Kaelara closed her eyes. She reached inward, past her fear, past her fading warmth and found a steady ember buried deep. She extended that warmth outward. It hurt. Like pulling thread from her own chest. Light flowed from her palms into Lysa. The girl gasped. Her cracked glow sealed itself. Color returned to her cheeks. When Kaelara pulled back, dizzy and breathless, Lysa’s Ember burned bright. “You see?” Cyris said. Kaelara touched her own chest. Her Ember had dimmed slightly further. Chapter Five: The Cost of Fire They continued deeper into the Wilds. Each time they found another lost youth trapped in fear, drained by invisible threads leading toward the tower Kaelara restored them. Each time, her own light weakened. “You cannot save them all,” Cyris warned. “I have to try.” “You are not endless.” She stopped walking. “Are you?” she asked quietly. Cyris hesitated. “I was once human,” he admitted. “I failed to save someone. The King claimed her. I bargained my years to become what I am.” A Keeper. Half in shadow. Half in regret. The tower grew larger. The pull on her chest grew stronger. That night, as she slept beneath frozen stars, she dreamed of the King. His face was gaunt and ageless. His crown woven from pale bones of light. “You burn sweetly,” he murmured. “Come closer.” She woke screaming. Her Ember flickered dangerously low. Chapter Six: The City Without Dawn Meanwhile, in Avelora, children began collapsing. One by one. Their Embers dimming to ash-gray stillness. Panic spread. The Council searched for answers but found none. Ilyan stood at the Skywell and stared toward the Hollow Wilds. He felt it. The city itself was losing light. Without youth, Avelora would crumble. And somewhere in the forest, Kaelara fought alone. Chapter Seven: The Black Tower They reached it at last. The ground around the tower was barren drained of color. Threads of faint light stretched from every direction into its walls. Cyris turned to her. “This is where I leave you.” “What?” she whispered. “He cannot see me as long as I remain between. But once you step inside, you face him alone.” Her chest tightened. “I am afraid.” “So was I,” he said softly. “Fear does not make you weak.” She stepped toward the tower. The doors opened without touch. Chapter Eight: The Withered King Inside, the air tasted like dust and forgotten birthdays. The King sat upon a throne of stolen light. “You are late,” he said mildly. Kaelara forced her legs not to tremble. “Release them.” He chuckled. “They feed me. As they will feed you, in time.” “I don’t want immortality.” “Everyone does.” He stood. Threads connected her chest to his crown. “You feel it,” he murmured. “Your power. Restoration. You could reign forever. Mend what breaks. Heal what fades.” At what cost? She saw it then — behind his throne lay countless hollow forms. Youths drained completely. “You were once like me,” she said. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I feared losing my light.” “So you stole others.” “And survived.” He extended his hand. “Join me.” Her Ember sputtered. She thought of Avelora. Of Lysa’s smile. Of Ilyan’s golden wind. Youth was not meant to be hoarded. It was meant to be lived. “No,” she whispered. Chapter Nine: Ignite The King lunged. Pain exploded through her chest as he pulled harder. Her light surged toward him. She fell to her knees. If she kept fighting him, he would overpower her. But what if she did not resist? She closed her eyes. And instead of clutching her Ember— She opened it. She let it blaze outward. Not toward him. Toward everything. Light flooded the chamber. Threads snapped. The hollow forms behind the throne shimmered and reignited. The King screamed as restoration consumed him. “You will vanish!” he roared. “I know,” she whispered. Her body felt weightless. Her Ember expanded beyond skin and bone. Youth was not possession. It was courage before certainty. Hope before proof. Fire before fear. With one final breath, she released everything. The tower shattered. Dawn broke for the first time in weeks. Chapter Ten: Afterglow In Avelora, children gasped awake. Their Embers burned brighter than ever. The Council stared as golden light rippled across the valley. Ilyan fell to his knees in relief. The Hollow Wilds bloomed. Trees regained leaves. Time flowed forward. Where the tower had stood, only wildflowers grew. Cyris walked alone through the clearing. He felt it. She was not gone. Her light had woven itself into the world. Whenever a child felt doubt but chose courage Whenever someone helped another rise A flicker of her warmth returned. In Avelora, they told stories of the girl who burned brighter than fear. They called her reckless. They called her brave. They called her legend. But sometimes, at twilight, when the sky turned violet and the world held its breath, a whisper could be heard in the glow of every young heart: Oh my youth Burn.